2 The Greyjoy Rebellion

Iron Islands,

Orkmont,

An eagle soared in the grey cloud covered sky, releasing a high pitched cry as it changed directions. The Sun did not shine that day, humid air permeated Orkmont. A rough and hardy island among the several similar islands that made up the Iron Islands, the home of the ironborn. A raiding people that raped and pillaged as part of their culture, as a way of life.

The sea appeared disturbed, erratic and strong waves brushed against the sandy shores of Orkmont. A strange type of tension hung in the air, war was taking place at this very moment. A war the ironborn were losing, and quite badly at that.

The Fleet sent for Lannisport had been reduced to nothing but planks of wood floating about the Fair Isles after they'd been caught in a pincer attack. The rest of the fleet had also been completely decimated. Much to the displeasure and disagreement of House Blacktyde and a few others, they had attacked Seagard on the orders of Balon Greyjoy, the King of the Iron Islands.

The results were what Edric Blacktyde, the head of House Blacktyde had already 'predicted' and warned against, attacking a bastion built solely for defence against an attack from the sea when they were already stretched thin was never going to work...

The attacking fleet was utterly ruined.

If that wasn't enough then, just as they had declared their rebellion, Robert Baratheon, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals and the First Men, and the Protector of the Realms was quick to rally his subjects and make his way towards them in haste.

And again, as had been expected, the lords of the Seven Kingdoms... or Six excluding the Iron Islands, were quick to respond to his call, their morale already on an all time high from the victory against the Mad King some years ago.

Things did not... look good, at all.

Now, now they would fight for the Iron Islands as a result of foolish attacks.

On the shores of Orkmont, thousands of men stood in rows, certainly not neat rows but rows nonetheless, they looked rough and rude. The ironborn had always been a strangely rowdy people.

They stood silently, looking at the horizon, cold sweat dripping down the backs of some, their grips on their weaponry tightening. Axes, swords, spears, bows, there was no order to their weapons, no grouping, no organisation, each one picking what they were best with.

The ironborn were not built for hard and fast tactics, they would much rather simply brute force their way through everything.

...Perhaps that was why they faced this problem.

At the head of this 'army' stood a tall man with a broad stature, short white hair that had been tied to the back. He wore no armour, only a pair of roughly knit pants, the matching armors worn by the men, with a kraken drawn at the centre, the crest of House Greyjoy, was nowhere on his body, it lay bent and broken on the sand beneath him.

A cloth was tied around his waist, presumably his own shirt, and he stood there with both his hands resting on an impressive jagged battleaxe.

Lord Edric Blacktyde stood his ground with a solemn expression, his eyes displaying a mixture of anger and frustration.... He only had himself to blame for lack of decisiveness...

But, he'd not bend the knee.

They'd lost but he would not surrender. The shame of living on after kneeling to man was too much for the ironborn lord, one would say, an ironborn lord resembling the olden days. The days of the Hoare, masters of much of the Seven Kingdoms.

A young man ran up to him, sweat rolling down his forehead, "My lord, the Greyjoy have taken to fortifying Pyke."

Edric looked at him in silence, this too was well within expectations, "This is t-"

"Ships on the horizon!"

His words were cut off by a nearby shout but he was anything but angry, pushing the boy to the side he walked forward, grabbing his axe in one hand as he walked into the water, staring off into the distance with a scrutinising gaze.

There, he saw dozens if not hundreds of ships sailing across the dark sea.

The waves of the ocean coalesced under his steps, as if moving to set a path for the Lord Blacktyde.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Edric's grip tightened on the axe, the wood cracked under his monstrous strength.

It may not be well known to anyone but ironborn, but the young Lord of House Blacktyde had a reputation for both his strength and his temper as well as his outlandish attitude towards things that still managed to ignite a fire in those under his command.

He was, one of the greatest sailors the ironborn had ever seen as well one of the richest, his raids were a sight to behold for all those not actively taking part in them... Not that any would actually give up the chance to do so.

Edric walked back to his original position, his steps producing audible thuds..... thought, that may have been because of the sheer tense silence that had currently taken over all present there.

He ran a gaze over his men, his people, and then silently once more, took to watching the sea. It had been difficult at the start but he found solace and ease in living with the Ironborn, they fit his personality well. Being a noble certainly helped and he found himself enjoying the occasional raid as well.

They were his people and the Greyjoy would have them die in vain, a cowardly and idiotic house... The fault lied with him too; however, he had obeyed his father's words, and the words of his father before him, showed his loyalty to them and in return, they'd abandoned them.

Orkmont was strategic, they could have made a good stand here.... if only, the Greyjoy didn't lock themselves up at Pyke and take the majority of their forces with them.

Shaking his head out of such thoughts, the Blacktyde smiled, the smile slowly transforming into a vicious grin as ships holding the flags of House Baratheon, House Stark, House Tyrell as well as other major houses and those under them slowly drew near and near.

He stomped his foot on the ground, and raised his axe...

Before smashing it into the armour that lay at his feet,

"They abandoned us, men!"

His shout was heard clearly, echoing across the army of ironborn that stood behind him, under his command.

They tensed up, surprised by their commander's actions... In truth, most of the men that stood here did so not because Balon Greyjoy had ordered them, they did because Lord Edric of House Blacktyde had obeyed that command.

They knew him to be a fearsome man, one famous for just how much he had raided, and they respected him for it. That alone would have sufficed for the might respecting ironborn but, the man was one who drank and ate with them, lived with them, cheered with them and cried with them.

The ironborn were a simple people, such a man had moved those that met him quite a bit.

Edric smashed his axe down once more, completely ruining the crest on it,

"But I say fuck em!"

He raised his axe to the sky, "They abandoned us and now I abandon them!" Law, right and teaching dictated that they were the rulers... Now, that Law was worth shit, the Greyjoy betrayed first and now, it was no longer betrayal to not side with them.

"I reject their claim over the throne! Fuck the Greyjoy!"

In response to his heated words, the men stayed silent, not quite knowing exactly what it was that they were to do.

"We are ironborn! Born on the Iron Islands! We're not like the mainlander boys, we're not like the cowardly Greyjoy either! We're going to stand right here! Protect this shore!"

He once more rested his axe on the ground, resting his own two hands atop it right after.

"But not because they ordered us to! We protect this shore because we are ironborn! This is our land! It's our people that will die! It's our children that will be forced to adapt to the shitty ways of the stags and the wolves and the fucking roses! Bloody ROSES! What kind of fucking ironborn yields to a rose?!"

The ironborn behind him fidgeted in place, their hearts beating faster, a strange rush washing over their very being as they listened to the words of the man commanding them.

"Old Way! Old way he told me! What old way?! Balon Greyjoy raises our children to be snivelling backstabbers and cowards! That's not ironborn! That's not even fucking mainlander! If that's what we're going to become! Then we deserve to die right here! Right now!"

The sea raged, the calm waves from before turned into higher ones, crashing into the shore, water splashing against Edric who stood with a fierce expression on his face.

The ironborn who witnessed this were wide eyed in complete shock, the sea moved to this man's rage..... They believed in the Drowned God, a deity of the sea, the sea represented their God's will.... And the sea agreed with Edric.

"But! It's true that we'll lose! We'll probably die here! But I say, so what?! We may die here but we'll die ironborn! We'll die, men! Scheming and plotting is one for the women and the bratty lords of the mainland!"

He stomped his foot on the ground, "We die here, we die today! But we die ironborn! We do not yield! We do not bend! For we! Are Ironborn!"

He veritably roared, lifting an axe built to wield with two hands with one, and following his shout, many more followed, the ironborn stomped the ground, their expressions turned ferocious and serious, in their last moments, they would follow Lord Edric of House Blacktyde.

The Ironborn that would never yield. A True Ironborn.

Thunderous roars were the only things noticeable on Orkmont that day.

-x-X-x-

Some distance off the Iron Islands,

Countless ships sailed over the sea, holding tens of thousands of fully armoured men, standing with stern faces, their hands on their weapons and their gazes fixed on the islands in the distance. They were motivated, this rebellion was an opportunity to obtain great glory for their efforts in the war and be recognised.

As for their victory? No one doubted it, the bulk of the ironborn forces lay at the bottom of the sea after the previous battles.

At the head of this majestic fleet sailed a massive flagship, bearing the symbol of House Baratheon, a stag.

On this ship stood a tall, bulky and well-built man with long pitch black unruly hair, a similarly long beard. A crown rested atop his head, making it more than obvious who he was, if that wasn't enough then there was the iconic warhammer resting over his shoulder and the stag on his metal armour. He put a hand on the ship's sides, looking off into the distance with an expectant gaze.

Robert Baratheon, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, and the Protector of the Realm.

One many would call the mightiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

Just behind him stood a firm well-built man, with his arms folded behind his back, a strange rather bland expression on his face. Black hair, a short trimmed beard, a sword at his waist, the head of House Stark and the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark.

The other men on the ship were busy with making sure it did keep sailing and getting ready for combat. King Robert and Eddard or, Ned Stark were old childhood friends and the King much preferred his company to some posh lord that would be licking his boots if he so ordered.

Strangely enough, the ship quaked and the King somewhat stumbled before laughing loudly, banging his hand on his own armour, "You think their God is trying to help them?" The King laughed at his own joke.

"Still, this is strange." Ned Stark looked at the raging waves, waves that had been calm and serene not moments ago, he chalked it up to pure coincidence. Weather was a fickle thing after all.. still though, there was this sneaking suspicion in the back of his mind.

"Would you look at that?" Robert pointed to the shores of one of the three islands in sight with a small grin on his face, the whole shore was filled with men, men who seemed to be shouting something as they banged on their weapons.

"Robert.. No." Ned shook his head, going there would be a change to the invasion plan, they had to head for Pyke.

"...Fine." Robert Baratheon sighed at his friend's boorish words, there would be a battle at Pyke too but what harm was there in going to that island first?

"Though..." Ned rubbed his chin in thought, if those men were left on that island, their own forces could be caught in a pincer attack once they besieged Pyke... That would not be good.

Thinking quickly, he ordered for a sizable part of the fleet to change directions and head for the island of Orkmont. Their orders were to capture or kill all enemy combatants.

-x-X-x-

The part of the fleet that detached there and then bore the flags of House Redwyne, the Lord Admiral and the Master of Ships, Paxter Redwyne led this fleet. Already having gained honour and glory when he aided Stannis Baratheon in crushing the Iron Fleet in this very war.

Understandably, the Redwyne Fleet, 200 warships strong, had great morale and the Lord Paxter himself was also somewhat expectant, the rewards for protecting the flank of the King's Fleet would by no means be small.

Standing on the forefront of his flagship, his heartbeat picked up, the Lord Redywne, despite his age, was excited.

Still however,

Nothing could have prepared him or his men for what came next.

As they drew nearer, the heard shouting and metal banging, the noise shaking up their very beings, the sea raged harder, large waves threatened to throw the ships off balance, "Land! Make for land! Quickly!"

And then, the fearsome shouting which had only resembled the roar of an animal turned into something understandable.

The words they heard then were not cheers of the name Greyjoy.

They were...

"What in th-...?!"

"Blacktyde! Blacktyde! BLACKTYDE! BLACKTYDE! ..."